Sunday, November 8, 2009



After you finish telling me
what I feel
my heart is locked.
My mouth tastes lemons.

Under the equanimity
of the moon's soft face
my garden continues
to grow.


I must be clear as dawn
clear as throat
clear as ice
to be a mirror for you,
shadowing the lake.
I must be something dark enough
to keep unfolding.


My fingers frost
at the cold's first

your message lost
in the heat of my breath.

Earth is where I could
be sane
if I felt my heart.


No - the snowfall is black.
The park where I thought I was
is gone.
The blanket of defense
is smothering.

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